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Thorn: Age 15
“Good, Thorn,” my wrestling coach praises as I exit the mat.
It’s the last wrestling match of the year. I’m not a star, but I’m doing well in the sport. I’ve locked the moves I’ve learned away for when I finally start training for real. Three more years until it’s my time.
I talked Briar into letting me sign up for wrestling. We did end up moving. Now, we’re in Florida. So far, she seems to want to stay. Friday nights are movie nights, Saturdays are beach days. Briar loves the ocean and I like seeing her happy. She seems free in some ways. She’s still cautious, but I don’t think our parents are coming for us. I hope not anyway.
“Yay, Thorn,” Briar cheers me on from the stands.
She’s my number one cheerleader, and I love her for that. I could be a screw-up, lose every match, get a D in math, and she would still cheer me on.
I down half a bottle of water and watch the rest of the matches. It’s taken a long time to get me to be able to compete in sports. Since we were so malnourished, I was underweight. Briar still is because she gives me more of her food so I can put on weight. It scares me at how tiny she is. She’s already short and now she’s skinny. I don’t think it’s healthy, but she won’t budge. I’ve asked Marge to try and get her to eat, and she does, but the extra food Marge and Jerry, who own the diner where Briar works, send home goes to me.
I think I might need to put my foot down. Briar needs some tough love. I tower over her now, and I’m only fifteen. I’ve been told it will help when I get ready to conquer the MMA circuit. I’m foaming at the mouth for that chance. Learning wrestling moves will come in handy.
“Good match,” I hear coach say, and I look up to see that the matches are over.
I throw on a hoodie and make my way over to Briar, who ruffles my hair.
“Stop that,” I mock whine, though I secretly love it.
She still loves everyone and everything, even after all the shit she’s been through. I hope to be like her someday.
“Never.” She grins as we head to the car and home.
It’s Friday night, and it’s my turn to pick a movie. Briar is hesitant about MMA since it’s fighting. She doesn’t want to see me hurt like I was in the past. I know what I’m getting into. I try to soothe her nerves. It’s why when it’s my turn, I always pick a comedy or a cartoon to watch.
“I got a little extra in tips. I thought we could order takeout,” she says, and I grin at her.
“Yes, please,” I say.
I was taught to have manners, not by my birth givers, but by Briar. She’s been a better mom to me than our own mother. However, I wouldn’t call that woman who gave birth to us a mother.
“Good,” she says as she unlocks the car.
I stop and look at her, biting my tongue until I just say fuck it, we need to have this conversation.
“Briar, please start eating,” I say as I slide into the car.
“Thorn,” she sighs.
“I know you worry about me and don’t want me to go without food and how I’m a growing boy, but please eat,” I beg her.
“But . . .”
“I’m already bigger than you. I’m healthy, and now we need to get you there.”
“Fine,” she relents, and I silently pump my fist before grinning at her. She’s so tiny, I could break her with my pinky.
“How was school?” she asks as we make our way home.
“Good. I got an A on my science test,” I say, and she smiles at me, proud that I’m doing so well.
I’m pretty good at science. I could be a doctor if I wanted to be. I think I would be a good one. If I go to college, I want to do something to help kids. Kids like Briar and me need someone in their corner. Since our parents failed us and the lowlifes that came through the door failed us, I won’t fail others. If I make it big, I could start a foundation or something.
I look at Briar for a minute and see she’s lost in thought. I’m sure it’s about Lennon. I get it—I miss him as well. But he made it known he didn’t care about us, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Well, more like left Briar to fend for us. I still have nightmares about my father trying to touch me. On those nights, I wake up, and she’s holding me, singing to me. I lie and tell her I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. I don’t need her to worry more. I can only hope that one day our parents drop dead. If they did, I wouldn’t care.
She pulls up to the apartment we live in, and I jump out, going to open her door for her.
